Standstill
by trufflemores
Summary: 1.18. Barry's had one too many brushes with death for Joe's comfort.


Joe tries not to think about the implications behind it.

 _Cisco put a defibrillator in the suit_.

He would like to chalk it up to overpreparedness. Better to have it on you than need it and not have it. Except he knows how unlikely it would be to encounter a situation where a _defibrillator_ would be needed.

Soldiers don't go into battle wearing suits like this. Neither do firefighters or police officers. No one goes enters a scene already wearing a defibrillator.

It's not exactly economical – and the risk of a malfunction, while small, is still significant enough to act as a counterbalance to the scarcity of its _need_ – but Cisco felt concerned enough to include it in the suit.

Joe wouldn't have put it in the suit. He doesn't think Dr. Wells or Barry would have, either.

But Cisco knew. Cisco knew there was a chance things could go south one day. Cisco didn't just want to be prepared; Cisco felt he _had_ to be prepared.

Barry owes his life to Cisco's "overpreparedness."

Joe owes his sanity to it, too.

Barry's holding onto him, wheezing, and it's all Joe can do to hold him up. Every ragged, hyperventilating breath makes his chest ache. It's never easy to listen to someone in distress; it's _exponentially_ harder when it's your kid. There are old arguments that want to surface – how Barry can't do this, Barry can't just risk his life to fight crime, _he is my kid_ – but it isn't the time.

The present matters. Every rabbit-fast heartbeat matters. Even the shivers coursing across Barry's arms and back are reminders of the truth.

 _He's okay_ , Joe thinks, eyes closing, supporting Barry. _He's okay_.

"I've got you," he whispers, helping Barry sit upright. Barry leans against him, head on his shoulder, still breathing too hard for Joe's comfort. "I've got you, Bar."

Listening to him cough is painful; it's always painful being on the other side. Joe never liked looking through the glass door. If he could have traded places, he would have done so without hesitation. He would have freed Barry up to be _Barry_ , a forensic scientist, brighter and more hopeful about their future than he has any right to be, the kind of kid who can stare in the face of horrendous crimes and still find humanity's silver linings. He would have gladly given up nine months of his life to have Barry laughing and smiling and watching Netflix and reading books again, tripping over his own feet and spilling coffee and generally making their lives better.

It got quiet without him. Very, very quiet.

Holding Barry's trembling frame in his arms, Joe thinks, _I can't lose you_.

Tears slip past his hold, but he doesn't care, hauling Barry close for a hug, feeling one of his hands fist his shirt. "Easy, Bar," he says, running a hand down his back. "You're okay now."

"Joe," he whispers, holding on.

Joe thinks about how they told him _He's not stable, you can't go near him, we're still working_.

Joe thinks, _I'm his dad, he needs me, he's my son._

They didn't let him near him. Barry wasn't stable. Barry was dying. No one would say it out loud and Joe scarcely entertained the idea, but it was true, all the same.

Barry was dying. None of them could save him.

Enough time passed in that room that Joe thought maybe they'd all quietly died. The darkness was persistent and oppressive; the machinery cold and mechanical; the endless run of tests uninspiring, draining. All of it added to a sense of unreality. Days passed in continuous, unbroken spells; time stopped having any meaning. Joe didn't eat when he was hungry or sleep when he was tired. Pleas of exhaustion were ignored.

Barry was dying. And Joe couldn't let him.

So he clung to Barry's breathing, to his heartbeat, to the faintest signs of _life_ because it was all he had.

When the grand mal seizure hit, Joe knew, _I'm losing him_ even though he would not let it, he _would not let it take his son_.

When Barry dropped to the ground, Joe ran as fast as he could – when he felt his heart stop under his hand, he felt his world fall out from underneath him.

 _No._ Calling Cisco, pushing down on Barry's chest, feeling frantic and trapped, his head spinning. _No, no, no_.

They didn't keep him alive for nine months, fight for his life for _nine months_ , only to lose him in one fell swoop.

Joe refused to lose him. He refused.

 _Deus ex machina_ meant _God in the machine_. Cisco saved Barry's life because he prepared for something Joe refused to even contemplate: he put life in the suit when death held a stranglehold over him.

 _God in the machine_.

Barry's breathing starts to settle to a more normal level, tears streaming down his cheeks. His face looks sore, covered in red welts that pulse slightly with his heartbeat. Like infected wounds, they're sharp-edged, commanding attention. It's just a reaction, but it still makes Joe's mouth run dry, preventing him from saying anything for several long moments.

He knows that Cisco, Caitlin, and Dr. Wells have a live feed from the suit. They know Barry's okay. Joe just needs a moment to process it, too.

"It's okay," he echoes out loud, cradling the back of Barry's head. "You're okay now. Take your time."

"They weren't kidding about that _kicked by a horse_ feeling," Barry says, voice raw, wheezing.

"Take your time," Joe echoes, holding him on the pavement, patient, eternal.

He'd stay there forever just to keep Barry alive. Sometimes being a parent is a selflessness so natural it feels selfish: he'd give up anything, everything for Barry. For Iris. Anything to let his kids live. Anything to keep them alive. It's an ultimatum that overrules every other option: no alternative exists. No amount of rationality or morality can prevent him from making the same call every time.

 _Do whatever it takes to keep them alive_.

He has to admit, he's kept Iris from the force because of his own selfishness. He tried to keep Barry from being the Flash because of his own selfishness.

Holding him, feeling every quaking breath, Joe almost wishes he'd been a little more selfish.

Mostly he wishes he had called off that night, taken a break, rested the case. Taken Iris and Barry out to dinner, grounded them, gone to Starling City, _anything_. Anything to keep Barry from that room. Anything to stop Singh's phone call.

" _Joe, Barry's at St. Andrew's. He was struck by lightning. He's in intensive care; they're stabilizing him. He should be okay. Call me back when you get a chance._ "

Somehow, he thinks, feeling Barry's breathing slowly coming back to normal, it wouldn't have changed a damn thing. _I don't think that lightning struck me, Joe. I think – I think it_ chose _me._

"Come on," he says, tucking an arm under Barry's shoulders. "Up we go."

He wants to take Barry home. Call Iris, whip up some ice cream, put on Netflix. Be a family. Anything to stay away from danger.

Instead, he helps Barry limp to the car, opening the backseat, letting Barry collapse against the cushions.

He shivers and Joe grabs a blanket from the trunk, throwing it over him. He feels his throat tighten at the prospect of having to let him out of sight for even a second, convinced Barry's condition will fall apart as soon as he looks away. Squeezing his foot once, Joe shuts the door carefully and climbs in the driver's seat, training the mirror so he can see Barry, eyes closed, breathing shallow but even.

He's curled on his side and remains that way for the whole drive, eventually breathing so lightly Joe knows he's fallen asleep, and he thinks it's a good sign that Barry _can_ sleep. He's not in so much distress that it's beyond him. That's a good start.

Besides, even though Joe still has no idea what the lightning _did_ to him – aside from giving him speed, an incredible appetite, and an ability to heal _fast_ – he knows that sleep is good. Sleep is healing. Conserving strength. Rebooting.

When Cisco calls him back, Joe reluctantly answers, trying to keep his voice low. It's gruffer than he expects. "He's okay."

Cisco exhales hard. " _Thank God._ " Then: " _You headed back?_ "

"Uh huh." Looking at Barry through the rearview window, still sound asleep, Joe adds, "Defibrillator worked."

" _Never hoped we'd need it._ "

Joe huffs softly. "I can agree with that." Then, pulling up to a red light, he asks, "What the hell were those things, anyway?"

" _Bees. Some sort of – mind-controlled bees._ "

Joe shakes his head. "What's next? Talking sharks?"

" _Please. These are manufactured._ "

"Hey, Grodd was a big ass science experiment gone wrong," Joe says, pulling forward and angling towards Star Labs. "It could happen."

" _For all of our sakes, let's hope it doesn't. How is he?_ "

Joe chances another surreptitious glance to the backseat. "Out like a light."

" _That's fine. His vitals are pretty low, but that's normal after something like this._ "

Joe thinks, _There's a normal for this?_

Sure, he's used to Barry coming home walking stiff, nursing an arm or leg. He's seen him clocked out on the couch in the middle of the afternoon even though Barry tends to be a compulsive person, working late into the night, never seeming to stop. He's watched Barry devour every high-calorie food in sight, refueling after an intense night in the field.

But he isn't used to actually seeing Barry _die_ , his heart stop beating, his lungs stop working.

Then he comes back to life, strangling for breath and clinging to Joe like a life raft.

 _I'm not gonna let you go_ , Joe promises.

Fifteen minutes later, he pulls into the Star Labs parking lot. He gives it another six minutes before killing the engine; the thought of waking Barry any sooner is unbearable. The quiet startles Barry awake; he's sitting up before Joe can say, "Hey. It's okay."

He climbs out of the driver's seat and opens the back door, helping Barry sit up and feeling him cough, a deep, rattling sound that makes Joe seriously consider turning around and going _home_. The only thing that keeps him from doing so is the knowledge that he won't sleep soundly until he knows that Barry is okay. Defibrillation has repercussions. Things he doesn't know because they're out of his depth; things that are far out of his depth in Barry's unique case.

The walk to the cortex is long, but Barry's steps grow almost imperceptibly steadier as they move. Joe keeps an arm around his shoulder, supporting him, letting him pause when he needs to.

As soon as they round the corner, Caitlin is on him, checking his retinas while Barry patiently explains that he's fine.

"I'll believe that when I see it," Caitlin says. "How are you feeling?"

"If we're being honest?" Barry limps forward, and Joe keeps pace, reluctantly letting him go when he sinks into a chair. "Kind of shitty. But still alive, so that counts."

"Definitely counts," Cisco says, clapping him on the shoulder. "You scared the crap out of us."

"Sorry."

By the time Caitlin is satisfied that he isn't going to relapse, Barry has peeled out of the suit and thrown on a Star Labs t-shirt and sweat pants. His face is already healed; his posture, more relaxed. Joe thinks he's finally starting to look like himself again. It makes it easy to put a hand on his shoulder and squeeze lightly. One of Barry's hands reaches up and squeezes back.

"Joe, I'm fine," he says, soft, persuasive. "Thank you."

 _You could have died._

 _You_ did _die._

 _I can't lose you, Bar_.

"Sure you don't want to call it a day?" he asks.

"Whoever's controlling the bees is still out there," Barry replies, getting up with only a tiny cringe. "They've killed two people already."

Joe thinks of that night, how the Mardon brothers killed a security guard before retreating to their hideout. How he could have put it off. In hindsight: should have.

But this isn't the same. And Barry has a point; they can't lose time.

So he nods instead. Releases his shoulder, even though it's one of the harder things he's ever done. Says, "I'll be at the precinct. Call me."

"Okay."

Then, with only a hint of the emotion threatening to overwhelm him, he adds, "Stay safe."

Barry smiles slightly. "I'll try."

There's a hollowness to his gaze that Joe attributes to fatigue. It makes him want to stay, to help, but he's out of his depth. All of this is out of his depth.

So he tells them, "Be good."

And then he's gone.

. o .

That night, he finds Barry asleep on the couch in the living room, head on Iris' thigh. She's got one hand in his hair and the other holding a book, reading by dim light and chancing a look at him. Her little smile says, "Hi, dad," without ever giving it voice.

Joe bends down to kiss the top of her head, squeezing her shoulder and saying silently, _Thank you_.

Her look spells, _Any time._

Joe doesn't know why Iris is there – whether Barry called her or if she was already there – but it's easier to not ask questions. Late enough that sleep summons him.

So he gently shakes Barry's shoulder, guiding him in a sleepy shuffle up the stairs. He tugs off Barry's shoes for him when Barry just slouches face-first on the bed, already unconscious. Drags the blanket out from under him and drapes it over him. Listens to his soft, rhythm breathing for a moment longer, wondering back to that night almost two years ago which would be the last normal night of their lives.

The night before the particle accelerator explosion.

He doesn't remember it – nothing special about it, really – but he remembers _Barry_ before the explosion. Remembers looking at Barry wondering if he would ever wake up for _nine months_. Remembers the first time he saw Barry pull back the mask and reveal he was _The Flash._

There are stages in Barry's life Joe thinks he misses – things he'll never fully understand – but he's glad that some things are still the same, too.

He's still got his kids.

And as long as he has them, everything else will fall into place.


End file.
